Of hair and chocolate cake and puppies
I'm eating a glorious piece of chocolate cake on this Friday afternoon.
And take my word for it when I say that this is indeed the best chocolate cake I have ever seen or tasted in my entire life.
Many have and have thanked me later.
This cake comes from our local Mexican restaurant just up the road.
Yes, I know that Mexicans are not known for their delicious sweets let alone chocolate cake and so I checked into this matter years ago.
This cake has a better backstory than what's currently available from Disney.
This double-layer cake is made from someone locally and I'm afraid that I will eventually meet them and eventually become a stalker.
So, instead I just enjoy this cold, creamy chocolate goodness whenever we take someone out to eat.
Which is where I snagged this piece.
I had lunch with Mom and Dad, laughed over warm cheese sauce and solved half the world's problems.
Actually we didn't solve any, including the age-old question that still plagues my Mom.
Will Deena eventually go gray again after what I like to call "The Great Highlight debacle." (Please refer to previous posts)
For some odd reason, it grieves my Mom to see me with any gray hair.
This is interesting since my Dad was white pretty much by my age, and my own husband sports some serious gray of his own.
I mean, I know I'm a trophy wife and all but this may be going a shade too far Mom.
And at this point it just may be becoming a family affair with some secret request to Mom from an unknown sib, "Please don't let Deena go gray, she looks so old."
This over guacamole when there are wells to be dug in third-world countries and dolphins to save from plastic, I thought to myself.
When the gray first became a thing, it was something that made me frustrated and sad, but now it really makes me laugh.
Maybe it's because I cared for too long for other's opinions of me.
Maybe it's because I am the youngest girl.
Maybe it's because I eat too much chocolate cake.
For whatever reason, my grays have caused quite a stir.
Oddly enough no one has breathed a word about my mustache I've been fighting off for 20+ years.
Poor Mom is now the "Old Person Police," making sure that I don't look older than my 44 year old self I guess.
I foresee interrogations over crocs and Moo Moo dresses....
Don't tell her I'm lying on the couch, feet up in the air, eating bites of chocolate cake in between sentences, M'kay?
I sure hope she gets paid overtime....
I jest because I love my family and I just having hair at all.
I love that being older means that I have lived this long.
I love that looking old, means I have laugh lines and chocolate cake smears and sunspots from so many weeks of junior camp.
I KNOW my family means well, and I mean to LIVE this one life well.
I'm dyeing to know (see what I did there) if I dyed my hair bright pink would there be some discussion over tortillas that I was looking too young?
And maybe I will be that Mom trying to help my daughters look their best.
Right now I am just thankful my girls can all wash and style their own hair without me.
Okay "style"may be a stretch, but I'm gonna go with "Bohemian," on this one.
I am plum thankful for a life that involves hair and chocolate cake.
Separately of course.
That would be just gross.
Here's some good news for my Mom and family.
I'm getting younger every day since my husband gave me my 22nd anniversary present.
He took me on a long drive last Saturday to Amish country.
I wondered for a moment if my present was going to be being left there for three whole days to make delicious jams and jellies.
It was the perfect late Spring afternoon and I have now decided that Late Spring is my favorite season.
If we can have "Indian Summer, " I can call my favorite season "Fashionably Late Spring."
The breeze was just the right shade of warmth and there was nary a cloud in the sky.
Each farm and crop and front yard garden we drove passed was so soothing for this old soul.
We talked and laughed and split a ginger ale and it was grand.
An hour and a half in I had almost forgotten that there was a present at the end of this trip to be had.
Then we turned into this long narrow drive and my sweetheart announced that at the end of this drive I would be picking out my very own puppy.
I was beyond giddy.
When my second one left for college, the sadness just lingered even more than the last one who flew the coop.
I mentioned that maybe a little dog would be good to have to keep me company now that the kids have decided to begin jumping ship.
My husband filed that away until this very day- this very litter of Shichon puppies.
There they all were, jumping about and my heart about leapt out of my chest!
Of course my first and ONLY worry was that I wouldn't be able to come up with a name!
Never mind training it, feeding it or even transporting it home.
The NAME. Now THAT was the worry.
In my defense, one does not know how one will act when spontaneously given a little mammal for one's anniversary.
AND I am notoriously known for reverse reacting if that is even a thing?
When this sweetheart of a man gave me a promise ring the night of his college graduation, I (thinking it was an engagement ring) put both hands on the restaurant table and exclaimed, "I'm not ready for that!"
Yeah, so surprise me if you will, but I cannot be held accountable for the dumb comment that most likely will follow.
These puppies were lively and all different shades of browns and blacks and whites and there she was.
She was the smallest of the bunch and yet so feisty too.
I held her and then watched her and then held her some more.
This may or may not be protocol when choosing a puppy but I just enjoyed watching her and wondering if she was indeed coming all the way home with us to stay.
In one instant of holding her I knew that she was ours and that she had a name.
My husband was literally amazed that I had a name so quickly, especially after giving me an award-winning "let's just take her home and wait upon a name to come to us," speech.
No waiting needed for me.
It came as suddenly as this surprise. Maisey.
And this little pup has made a youngster of me.
My temporary color may be washing out day by day, but I've never seen so many sunrises as with this little baby.
Wee early morning walks for... well, wee, have me feeling like a young Mom again.
A young mom that should eat chocolate cake lying on the couch just like when my own children were young.
I'm always up for an excuse to eat chocolate cake and take more naps, so this is a win-win.
I'm going to take this young self of mine inside to cook dinner and wish you each much chocolate cake and a very very good day.